


Even You

by iamafullyrealizedcreation



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-09-22 12:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9606974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamafullyrealizedcreation/pseuds/iamafullyrealizedcreation
Summary: If Sherlock, season 4 was written and made the way it should have been. John and Sherlock are living together again after the death of John's wife. Sherlock and John realize that they are not as safe as they think, when the return of their worst enemy is approaching, and is using past secrets against them.





	1. Chapter 1: Not as Many Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically the start of a TJLC based fanfiction.

“Even you?” John said standing, trying to leave the room for the second time, but finding himself unable again.  
“No.” Sherlock said softly. “Even you.”  
****************************************  
The next week John had moved back into 221B Baker Street, with little Rosie in tow. John and Rosie were both sleeping in John’s room at the moment, but anyone who visited the flat had a feeling that it was temporary arrangement.  
One day, when Rosie was napping John was sitting at the table by the windows above the street, staring at his blank laptop screen. Sherlock had just finished some sort of experiment in the kitchen, which had left an interesting smell in the air. It was neither good nor bad.  
“Any interesting cases?” Sherlock asked as he removed the safety googles from his face.  
John didn’t reply, but instead opened the website for his blog. There were all his latest entries, a couple pictures on the side. Nothing seemed out of place. Of course his writing wasn’t as good as it normally had been, but he didn’t think it was terrible either. He couldn’t think at all why anyone who he met that knew about the blog kept saying negative things wrong with it.  
Continuing to ignore Sherlock, John moved his mouse around the webpage some more, clicking on different articles. This page is what the internet browser automatically opened up to, and he hardly visited any other sites. He was able to start typing in the google section when he realized that there was no search bar. Or address bar. He wasn’t actually online, or on his real blog.  
“Sherlock, let me see your lap top.” John said, pushing his to the side.  
“Why? What’s wrong with yours?” Sherlock asked sitting in the chair across from Johns.  
“Just give it.” John said before taking the other lap top, opening it, and typing ‘John Watson Blog’ into the search bar. He clicked on the first link, which should have looked extremely familiar, but didn’t.  
Sherlock saw John’s face after clicking the mouse, and curious as to see what the matter was got up from his chair and lent down over John’s shoulder.  
“Well. That’s night right.” Said Sherlock slowly, before picking up the laptop and positioning it in a way where he would be able to maneuver the mouse, but John would still be able to see.  
He clicked on the first link, titled “She Knew.” Scrolling through the entry, there was a mashup of words.  
“Glg brx plvv ph? Hmh csy qmww qi? Eje zpv njtt nf? Fkf aqw okuu og? Glg brx plvv ph?” was just the first line of text, followed by several dozen more. Scrolling past the nonsense and into the comments, they didn’t recognize any names they knew. No comments from Mrs. Hudson, no comments from Molly Hooper. Not even any from the famous The Improbable One. Simply names without faces, all commented something that included a lot of question marks.  
Sherlock automatically was trying to decode the message. John moved the laptop his way again, and clicked back to the main page, and then to the article below the newest. This one was titled “You Can’t Hide.” And the same random arrangement of numbers filled the page. Looking back at the titles of all the recent blog posts, John’s heart started to beat a little bit faster and faster. “I Know You Did It.” “I’ll Tell Everyone” “Wrong Wrong Wrong” and “You Thought You Were Safe.” These names kept going until John reached the last real blog post, “The Sign of Three” which Sherlock had jokingly written after his wedding.  
“What does this mean, Sherlock?” John asked looking up from the monitor. “Is this targeting you or me?”  
Sherlock had his eyes closed now, and you could see that his eyes were moving rapidly beneath the lids.  
“3, 3, 4, 2.” John said, opening one of the entries back up and counting the amount of letters in each word of one sentence. “Do the numbers mean something?”  
Sherlock’s eyes flew open. “Did you miss me.” he said quickly.  
“What?” John demanded. ,  
“3, 3, 4, 2. It has nothing to do with the letters, those are all completely random. Did, 3, you, 3, miss 4, me, 2.  
“You said he wasn’t back.” John said slowly, his pointer finger moving between the laptop and Sherlock’s face, which was still very close. “How can he be back? He blew his own brains out.” John said, quoting himself from a couple months ago.  
Sherlock was also thinking back to the events on the tarmac. His overdose. The bride. He proved that she was able to survive ‘blowing her own brains out.’ All she needed was help. Shaking his head back and forth for a moment, he wondered to himself how he could have thought that Moriarty had actually died, after going through all that. Of course he learned a lot of other things during that overdose, but his mind had proved that Moriarty could have survived.  
“He had help.” Sherlock told John. “I was too distracted with other things to see it. No one ever found his body on the top of that roof. That’s why everyone thought I committed suicide. If he had been found dead on that roof as well, even Scotland Yard would begin to realize that something was a bit weird.”  
“What about the titles of these entries though. ‘She Knew?’ ‘I Know You Did It?’ ‘I’ll Tell Everyone?’ what is that all supposed to mean?” John asked, almost angrily.  
Sherlock looked long and sideways at John before saying quietly “It means that he knows.”  
Several seconds later John replied, also quietly. “He can’t. There’s no way. We made sure of that.”  
“Unless someone who does know told him.” Sherlock suggested, again focusing hard.  
“But the only other person besides, you and I was Mycroft.” John said.  
“I know. Someone must have been watching, without us knowing.” Sherlock said, finally moving back to his own chair and sitting down.  
Before thinking too much about it, John said; “Sherlock. Did Mycroft ever tell you how he got Moriarty to tell him the things he needed to know last time?”  
Sherlock’s eyes and attention, which had been sliding snapped back to John. “What?”  
“He told him all about you. Everything he needed to know to start your public demise. How else would he have gotten to get all that information?” John said, almost feeling like he was explaining something to a toddler.  
“You think Mycroft told him?” Sherlock said, lowering his hands which had been holding up his chin.  
“I don’t think he had a choice, and was doing it against his will, but yes, I think that it’s not something we should count out.”  
Sherlock nodded, reluctantly, but John knew that he had agreed with him.  
*****************************************************  
“I was going to tell you.” Mycroft said, sitting at his desk with his arms crossed looking at his brother, and John Watson across from him. He sounded almost scared.  
“No you weren’t.” Sherlock shot back. Mycroft just shrugged. “How long have you been under his thumb?” Sherlock said harshly.  
Mycroft didn’t answer.  
“You realize that everything we’ve worked on in the past two months is in complete danger now? John is in danger.” Sherlock said, leaning his hands on the table. John was standing behind him, arms crossed, but a small look of surprise darted across his face.  
“We all are in danger.” Mycroft said. “We always have been. It’s not my fault Dr. Watson decided to shoot his wife.”  
Sherlock stepped back as John stepped forward, both preparing to do something, but neither sure what.  
“You know I didn’t decide that.” John said in his quiet, but emotional tone.  
“Yes, yes” Mycroft said “and without Sherlock’s involvement you would be in jail right now.” Mycroft said, starting to get heated. “The point is; I had to tell him. Otherwise millions of people would have died.”  
“So what are we going to do?” John said. “What is he going to do with this information? It’s Sherlock he’s after, isn’t he? Not me.”  
Mycroft looked sideways at the pair. “I believe he thinks that he can get to Sherlock, through John.” Mycroft said, and then looked directly at Sherlock. “And he would be right.”  
*******************************************************  
Back at Baker Street, John was sat on his chair, bouncing Rosie up and down on his knee. He was looking at his daughter, but talking to Sherlock. “Nothing like last time, Sherlock. Never again. You have to tell me every bit of your plan. Especially if you plan on faking your death again.”  
“I know, I know.” Sherlock said. “And this time, we have to do it without Mycroft.”  
John looked up at him. At first surprised by Sherlock saying ‘we’ and also surprised that he planned to go against Moriarty without the help of his brother.  
Sherlock, looking up from some papers and small vials he had in his hand said “You knew it before me. We can’t trust him. Not when it comes to Moriarty. Who knows what else he is holding against my brother. He could tell him anything.”  
“What are you working on now then? Is that going to help?” John asked, eyes flicking to the objects in Sherlock’s hand.  
“This? Probably not.” Sherlock said quickly.  
“What is it then?” John said.  
“Nothing really.” Sherlock replied. Rosie gave a little laugh.  
*****************************************************************  
TWO MONTHS EARLIER 

Mary moved into the circular room. The fish swam all around the walls in complete silence. The blue light of the water reflected around the room.  
Sherlock was sitting on one of the benches, watching the sharks. He knew who was entering the room now.  
Mary knew what was coming. She also knew that she was going to have to finally complete what she had tried to do months ago.  
“How long?” Mary asked.  
Sherlock, still without looking at her replied. “How long have I known you worked for Moriarty? Well you confirmed it when you came here just now. So quickly, responding to a text from an unknown number, and rushing here.” Now Sherlock stood, and faced her. “You were afraid when you walked in here. You thought he had come back.”  
“You think you’re so clever Sherlock.” Mary said in a crooning voice. “Even after I almost killed you, you told John I saved you.”  
“You di-“ Sherlock started before getting interrupted again.  
“No, Cam dialed an ambulance on his phone before I knocked him out. I didn’t realize until after you told your version of the story. I thought that I had really killed you. And I was glad.”  
“Why are you telling me this?” Sherlock asked, now confused, but trying not to show it on his face.  
“Because you won’t be alive to tell John.”  
Sherlock raised his hands out in front of him, as Mary pulled a gun out of her coat pocket, armed it, and faced it directly at Sherlock.  
“Mary don’t. I can help you. I promised you that. I promise it to you now. Think of what John will think if you shoot me.” Sherlock pleaded.  
“Oh Sherlock, he’ll never know. He’ll think you died for some silly case. And then I won’t ever have to worry about him leaving me.” Mary said.  
Sherlock’s mouth opened a little in surprise at this. “Moriarty is dead, you don’t have to be afraid” He tried saying before getting interrupted again.  
“No more talking.” Mary said, changing her stance for a better shooting position, then moving her finger to pull the trigger  
Then the sound of a gunshot filled the air. Sherlock looked down at his chest, expecting to see blood, but then feeling or seeing nothing. Looking up he saw Mary, a pool of blood gathering around her chest, before she fell to the ground.  
Sherlock took a step back in surprise, before looking up from her body and seeing John Watson rushing to her, throwing his gun across the room.  
“John…” Sherlock said, unable to say anything else.  
“You need to get back.” John said holding the body of his dead wife. “Find a way to fix this.”  
“What…I can’t…” Sherlock said, still shocked.  
“Call your brother. Have him change things around like he did for you.”  
“John, you just…” Sherlock said.  
“I know what I did!” John said loudly. “Now call Mycroft.”


	2. Chapter 2: Oysters and Cranberry Juice

John’s eyes flicked open and he was back in his bed, back in Baker Street. No longer was he in the aquarium, the real events playing through, but instead of Mary staying dead she had opened her eyes, and said “I know.” John’s breathing was heavy, and he sat up and looked at his phone. 4 am in the morning. He looked across the room to the crib where Rosie was still sleeping soundly. It had been awhile since he had had that nightmare. They stopped when he moved back into Baker Street, but for the two weeks in between that night, and moving back he hardly slept at all.   
He laid back down, knowing that he probably wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again, but he had decided to give it a go anyways. He tried to pry his mind away from what Moriarty was going to do now that he was back, but each time his mind drifted close to unconsciousness again, he was scanted back.   
An hour later Rosie was awake again, crying for a bottle. Still awake John stood up to take care of her. He couldn’t help but wish that he still had someone to share these responsibilities with, but not her. If Mary had loved him, she never would have shoot Sherlock, or tried to do it a second time. John’s own love had been in question since then, only put out of question when Sherlock had reassured him that Mary had also ‘saved’ Sherlock. But now he knew that wasn’t true. If she had ever loved him in an unselfish way, she never would have tried to kill him.   
But what was on his mind now more than ever, was that “Mary” or Rosamunde, her actual name, had been working for Moriarty the whole time. He had not been told by anyone, but had come to the conclusion that Moriarty had sent her to him. Now, John was questioning if Mary had ever loved him at all. And if he truly ever loved her.   
****************************  
John was late coming down to the kitchen the next morning, Rosie balanced on his hip. Mrs. Hudson had left tea and toast out, and despite it being cold John took some anyway. Sherlock was once again in the kitchen, preforming experiments.   
“If you’re just doing this to distract yourself, you should know we have bigger things to worry about.” John said as he sat down.   
“I’m almost done, and then we will worry about what we will do next.” Sherlock said without looking up.   
An hour or so later, John was dressed out of his morning robe, and Sherlock had finally moved out of the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson had come up to take Rosie out with her to do the morning shopping.   
John looked up from the paper he had been pretending to read as Sherlock sat across from him, crossing his legs underneath him.   
“You didn’t sleep well last night.” Sherlock said, less of a question, more of a statement. “I thought it had gotten better.”   
“Yeah well, I guess with the whole blog thing and everything else that’s been going on it’s been catching up to me.” John said, setting the paper on the side table. “Have you come up with anything yet?”  
“I think we need to wait for him to make his move.” Sherlock said.   
“Wasn’t the blog his move?” John asked.   
“We don’t know how long that’s been like that.” Sherlock said, frustrated.   
John sighed. “So we just need to sit around here and do what? Wait for him to tell everyone in the world what I’ve done? So that I can be taken to jail or something?”   
“I’m not going to let that happen.” Sherlock said. “It’s not you he wants. He wants me, but he’s decided that the only way to get to me, is to threaten you.” He said, repeating Mycroft’s words from the day before.   
“And it’s true?” John said, more of a question than a statement.   
Sherlock just looked John in the eyes, an answer enough for the both of them.   
“So do I need to be bait?” John asked.   
Quickly, Sherlock said “No! I will find another way. He will have to do something again soon, you know how he was last time.”   
John nodded slowly, relived.   
*******************************  
They did not have to wait much longer. The next afternoon Greg Lestrade walked in the door, breathing heavy. “You’re not going to believe this.” He said in his heavy accent.   
Sherlock looked up from where he had been typing something on his laptop, and John looked from where he had been feeding Rosie on the couch. “What is it?” Sherlock demanded.   
Lestrade tossed a brown package at Sherlock, who caught it as he stood. “We’ve checked it out already. It’s not dangerous, but it doesn’t make sense to any of us.” He said.   
“Of course it doesn’t” Sherlock said as he moved more into the light, examining the parcel. With careful fingers he reached in, and pulled a stack of papers. Some of them had different styles of bar-codes; others had drawings that looked to be from children’s books. The first of these was of a knight with curly brown hair going in to attack a red dragon. The next drawing showed the dragon transforming into the devil, and in the next, the devil was holding the knight, poised to sallow him.   
Sherlock looked up from the drawings and made eye contact with John, who had picked up Rosie and moved to stand next to him, also looking at the papers.   
“Where did you find this?” Sherlock asked looking back to the packaging.   
“It was in my office this morning. Thought it might mean something to you.”   
“Yes.” Sherlock said, paused, and then continued. “They do. If you don’t mind I would like to hold onto these for a bit.”   
“Figured you might.” Lestrade said. “Let me know if you need anything else. I was just stopping in. I have to meet with some of the detectives from Liverpool now.” He said his good byes, and then left Baker Street.   
**********************************  
After each of the pages had been examined, and no unknown fingerprints, or other clues found, John and Sherlock worked together to pin them up on the wall. The storybook pages on one side, the bar-codes on the other.   
Some of the other story book pages depicted mermaids sitting on rocks, a stone tower burning, the back of a blonde figure looking through a window, a dark pond which again had a blonde figure, birds flying in the air, puppets dangling by strings, and two crowns laying against each other.   
“What are these supposed to mean?” John asked, as he finished pinning the last one to the wall. The eyes of the yellow smiley face were poking above them.   
“I’m guessing that they each have something in common, and that will mean something.” Sherlock said, as he moved closer to the wall.   
“Unless they mean something individually.” John said, one arm folded across his chest, the other holding his chin up. “Like that one with the three puppets. Mycroft, Mary, and well who would the other one be?”   
“Irene Adler.” Sherlock said, stepping back and taking on John’s approach to looking at the drawings.   
“The blonde lady is in two of them. The pond, and that one there is looking out…hey, doesn’t that look like Bart’s?” John said.   
“She’s the sniper. In the pool where we first meet Moriarty, and then on Bart’s she would have been the one who was aiming at you.” Sherlock said.   
“You don’t suppose…no, never mind.” John said.   
“What?” Sherlock said, turning to look at him.   
“I was just thinking that it could be Mary.” He said, gulping as he said her name. “It would make sense, wouldn’t it? If he was ordering her around to be ready to kill us, even then.”   
Sherlock didn’t say anything for a while. After the pause he said “It could have been.”   
Another silence ensued before Sherlock turned to the barcodes. “I can easily see what kind of items these belong to. However, getting them scanned somewhere might trigger alerts he has set up.”   
“If you take care of that I can look closer at the drawings, and try to guess what they might have to do with our past, and connection with Moriarty.” John said, not truly believing that Sherlock would agree to it.   
“That sounds fine.” Sherlock said, moving to take the bar codes off the wall. “I’ll be back in a bit.”   
********************************  
Sherlock left the store, folding the papers and putting them in his coat pocket. His travels had brought him down to the River Thames and he peered down into its murky waters. The barcode items had not at all been what he had expected.   
One of them was for a bag of oysters, another for a brand-less perfume, a jellyfish stuffed animal, red lipstick, and colored eye contacts. After thinking about it, he decided that the oysters and the jellyfish would be connected, and the perfume, lipstick and contacts would also have something to do with each other.   
He texted John the list of items.   
‘Sounds like Moriarty is disguising himself.’ John replied a moment later.   
Sherlock rethought the items. If they were all connected. Perfume, lipstick, and contacts. Maybe he was hiding himself as some lady. A jellyfish stuffed animal, could be disguising himself as a mother. The only other thing that didn’t fit into this solution was the oysters.   
Not long later Sherlock had returned to Baker Street.   
“What have you come up with?” Sherlock asked, taking off his coat and throwing it on his chair, along with a grocery bag he had been carrying.   
“Well I wasn’t able to come up with anything for the mermaid, or the birds. I supposed that the burning tower could be here, our flat. You’re the knight in these ones here with the dragon and the demon. So maybe you need to save someone from a burning tower? And as for the crowns I’m guessing that he see himself as a king, although I’m not sure why there’s two crowns.”   
Sherlock looked over the pictures again. “The mermaid and the birds are too random. There must be other meanings to them. Have you check to see if there’s any secret messages on them?” Sherlock asked.   
John looked a little surprised. “No. How would I do that?”   
“That’s why I brought some supplies. On my chair.” Sherlock said. He went and took the bird picture off the wall, and brought it to the kitchen.   
John went to the chair, and looked inside the bag. “Cranberry juice and a lighter?” John said incredulously as he pulled out the items. “What on earth are you planning to do with these?” He said, knowing very well that he wouldn’t get answer.   
“Just bring them in here.” Sherlock said. “We’ll start with the lighter.”   
John moved into the kitchen, where Sherlock had cleared a space on the crowded counter, and had set the drawing so only the empty back showed. Sherlock took the lighter from John’s hand, and after turning it on, held it gently above the paper.   
Moments later a browned image started to appear. It was blocky, and uneven. “It doesn’t look like anything.” John stated.   
“Hand me the cranberry juice and one of those cotton swabs over there.” Sherlock said without standing up from leaning over the page.   
John did so, and as Sherlock started patting the back of the page down with cranberry juice, the image started to take form. The shapes were blocky, and hard to make out, but after looking closely enough both John and Sherlock saw the upper half of a woman, standing behind a crescent shaped object. Shapes fill the area behind her, and in the bottom center the words “chariot” could be read.   
“Tarot cards?” John said, the exact same time that Sherlock said “Tarot cards.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I'm just kind of making this up as I go, with certain points I want to hit along the way. So don't fight me or anything.


	3. Chapter 3: Reading the Future

Sherlock and John had taken down all the drawings from the wall, and preformed the same experiment with lemons and juice. Each one showed a different tarot card design and title on the back.   
The burning tower, was of course the Tower. The one of the devil eating the knight was the Devil, the one of the dragon turning into the devil was the Magician, and the one of just the knight and dragon was the Fool. The mermaid was the Hermit. The puppets dangling on the string was the Wheel of Fortune. The one with the blonde lady by the pool was shown as the Hanged Man and the one with the women looking out the window was Death. The two crowns was the Lovers.   
“Do you know anything about tarot cards?” John asked as the last one dried off.   
“A bit, but not enough.” Sherlock said.  
“Do you think Moriarty actually believes in this stuff? Like the fates and fortune?” John asked, still puzzled by the random turn of events.   
“I think he likes whatever these cards are supposed to mean.” Sherlock replied, pacing about, then taking his phone out of his pocket and opening a web browser.   
“So we can just look up what they mean.” John said, moving to get his laptop.   
“No.” Sherlock said, turning his phone around to show John. “I think we have to go see her.”   
John looked at the phone and saw a photograph of a women with the top half of her face covered in a light purple fabric, with her hands positioned in front of her face, her lips in a half smile. Right underneath the photo, the caption read “famous physic visits London, located;…” and then an address only a five minute walk from Baker Street.   
John sighed. “It never is simple, is it?”   
“Where would the fun in that be?” Sherlock said, walking across the room to grab his coat.   
*****************************  
John and Sherlock stood outside of the temporary venue that the physic was living in. There was quite a line moving out the door. Everyone from poor looking folk, to people in extremely expensive suits. Despite the range in social classes, they all had a look of curiosity and worry on their faces.   
John was about to step in the back of the long line, but Sherlock grabbed his arm’s coat and pulled him to the front door. There was a man waiting outside, almost like a bouncer, to take people’s money to let them in.   
“Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock said. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”   
The man simply raised his eyebrow, but opened the door to let Sherlock and John enter.   
They walked down a hallway, to the only door there, which had a sign that said “Madame Ciarda Collins”.   
Sherlock went first. As they entered a wispy voice said “Sherlock Holmes. I’ve been expecting you. And you bring a friend. John Watson I presume?”  
John shut the door behind him as Sherlock replied; “Yes, you’ve been expecting me ever since I told my name to your little guard out there, and heard me through the microphone in his chest pocket. From there it would be only logical to assume that the other person with me is Dr. Watson.”   
They both moved into the surprisingly spacious room, which felt much more cluttered with all the furniture, tables, and aroma’s from candles. Ciarda sat in a plush chair in the middle of the room, a table in front of her, with two chairs facing the table.   
“You’re not a believer. Then why are you here?” Ciarda asked. “Come, have a seat.” She added.   
“If you truly believed you were physic you wouldn’t have asked that, you would have told us.” Sherlock said, but took the seat to the left anyway. John sat in the one next to him.   
Ciarda wore loose fitted clothing, which made her appear larger than her actual frail body. Her hair was knotted and braided in different parts, and she wore heavy eye makeup and lipstick. She looked almost like a cartoon character, John thought.   
“We need you to tell us what these mean.” Sherlock said, pulling the papers out of the inside of his jacket and setting them on the table in front of them.   
“There will be a price.” Ciarda said, seeming to have dropped the false voice, and adopting a more natural, deeper sounding tone.   
“How much?” Sherlock asked.   
“I will let you know at the end of the session.” She said, with a little smirk. With that she took the pages, and examined both sides of all of them.   
“Where did you get these?” Ciarda asked while flipping through them.   
“That doesn’t matter.” Sherlock replied.   
“Well, you’ve got quite an array here.” She said after looking at all of them. “They would make for an interesting reading.”  
“We’re just interested in what they mean.” John said.   
“The meaning of these types of cards varies widely depending on which direction they are drawn. Only during a reading will you be able to find out what these cards are supposed to mean for you.” She said, stepping back into her false accent.   
There was a pause, and then Sherlock said “Is this what Moriarty told you to do?”  
Ciarda flinched before quickly saying “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”   
“Yes you do.” Sherlock and John said at the same time.   
Ciarda hung her head. “He told me to give you both a reading, out of different types of cards that he provided. I never saw him though. Only heard his voice.”   
“When was that?” Sherlock asked bunching his hands up in front of him.   
“He said I couldn’t tell you, or he would hurt my family.”   
Sherlock’s hands relaxed a bit, and John sighed. “Give us the reading, or whatever you call it then.” John said.   
Ciarda reached behind her, and grabbed her own deck of cards, sorting through them until only 10 were left out, the other 62 she set aside. Sherlock returned the original papers to his pocket. Ciarda carefully shuffled the small deck, before laying 5 in front of John, and the other 5 in front of Sherlock, with exaggerated hand movements.   
First she flipped the ones in front of Sherlock over. First was the chariot, then the magician, next was the fool, then the wheel of fortune, and finally the lovers.   
In front of John was the devil, the hermit, the tower, the hanged man, and death.   
John and Sherlock looked at their own cards, then the others, then up at each other.   
“So what does this mean then?” John asked, seeing that some cards on both were facing them, the others facing Ciarda.   
“For Sherlock, you have the upside down chariot, which means lack of control. You have the upside down magician, which means manipulation, and poor planning. You also have the upside fool, which means naivety and foolishness. Also the upside down wheel of fortune, which means out of control, and finally the right side up lovers, which means love, union, and relationships.” Ciarda said reciting each of them like she had done a million times over.   
“Now for Doctor Watson. You have the tower, which both ways means revelation, but you have it upside down, so the means a fear of change. You have the right side up devil, which means addiction and sexuality, the hermit, which both ways is a lonely card, but yours means that you are soul-searching. You also have the hanged man facing the right way, so that means lettering go, as well as sacrifice, and finally death, facing the right way which symbolizes both endings and beginnings.”   
As the meaning of each card was reviled a different facial expression had crossed John and Sherlock’s face. Both knew that these cards meant nothing to them objectively, but in the atmosphere, they couldn’t help but find meaning that applied to them in each of the cards.  
Also, John couldn’t ignore the fact that the death and the hanged man card, had both been given to him, and on the original papers from Moriarty, were the ones that had the Mary looking figure on them.   
As Cirada finished explaining the last card, death, she looked up at them, setting her hands in her lap.   
“So, what do you think?” she said leaning forward.   
“Is there anything else Moriarty wanted you to do?” Sherlock asked, looking up from the cards in front of him.   
Cirada leant back “Only to let you analyze what the cards mean to you yourselves.” A quick pause, then another smile, this one disappointed looking. “And the price of the reading.”   
John clenched up at the thought of what Moriarty might take from them hear. Sherlock must have thought the same thing, because when he replied it was strained. “And what would that be?”   
Cirada looked directly at Sherlock. “He only said; to tell Dr. Watson the results of your last home experiment.” She rested her arms on the chair, looking pleased at her job well-done, but also upset at not getting an actual payment for her time.   
“What does that mean?” John asked. Sherlock stop up, and John followed. They left the room, John following quicker than usual, leaving the physic to accept her next customer.   
*********************************  
John had been prodding Sherlock for answers on the quick walk back to 221B Baker Street, but Sherlock had not replied. It was only when they entered the flat, and Sherlock sat in his chair, hands holding his head, that he showed any sign that he had heard John.   
John remained standing, looking down on his friend. John had a feeling that he didn’t want to know the results of whatever bloody experiment Sherlock had been working on, but if Moriarty wanted him to know, he was even more scared.   
“Whatever it is, you obviously don’t want to tell me.” John said. “But apparently you’re going to have to, because if he knows that you were doing it, he’s gonna know if you’ve told me or not.”   
Just then Mrs. Hudson walked up the stair, Rosie propped on her side hip. “You two really must stop leaving without warning me if I’m watching Rosie.” She said, handing John’s daughter back to him. “I’m your landlady, not your live-in baby sitter.”   
John sat across from Sherlock bouncing Rosie, who was very content, on his knee. “I’m sorry Mrs. H.” He said “I’ll try to let you know next time we need to go out.”   
Mrs. Hudson let out a little huff of not being surprised, and went back downstairs to tend to some cleaning matter.   
Sherlock had still not said anything.   
“Well?” John said, back to his direction again. “Get it over with and just tell me.”   
Sherlock raised his head from his hands, looking up to wear Rosie was smiling on John’s lap. Painfully, softly, and full of regret, Sherlock said “I did a DNA test.” He paused, hoping that John would be able to make a conclusion, and that he wouldn’t have to say it.  
“Okay. So?” John replied, sounding weary.   
“You are not Rosie’s father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BABABUMMMMM. yeah okay, a lot of this might not be so much of a surprise if you've kept up with TJLC theories.


	4. Chapter 4: How the Solar System Works

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure if I would be able to get a chapter out this week! I'm quite proud of myself. Anyway, here's the next installment. I love getting comments from you guys, as well as the kudos. If you keep that up I'll be able to find the motivation to maybe actually finish this story! Anyway, this chapter takes off right at the end of the last one, where Sherlock tells John that John isn't actually Rosie's biological father. Enjoy!

There was a deafening silence throughout Baker Street that made even Sherlock feel uncomfortable. John hadn’t said anything. Just slowly looked away from Sherlock and down at the child in his hands. Rosie looked up at him, and reached her hands up to softly grab his nose. She smiled as she did so, and let out a string of garbling sounds.  
It was a couple minutes later when John looked up from Rosie, his eyes hard, and red. “Do you know who is?” He asked his voice cracking.  
Sherlock shook his head, in complete truth.  
John stood up, sat Rosie in Sherlock’s lap, and then left the room. Sherlock heard him moving up the stairs to his and Rosie’s room, a moment of silence, then the crashing of many different items against a wall.  
Rosie started to become unsettled with all the noises, and started to squirm around uncomfortably. Panicking a little, Sherlock started to try and sooth her.  
“Don’t go anywhere.” He said. “It’s all going to be okay.” But he had forgotten that babies generally don’t understand words, and only tones of voices, and so his almost-demanding voice had the opposite effect of what he had intended. Rosie started to cry, softly.  
Sherlock looked around, and saw the item nearest to him was a text book on the workings of the solar system. He had no idea how it had gotten there, and figured that someone must have put it there as a joke. He grabbed the book, moved Rosie in into the crook of his arm, and started reading the introduction out loud to her.  
******************************  
A full hour later John was still sat on his bed, staring at the empty crib in his room. He had stopped throwing things a while ago, and had simply sat down, with his mind feeling dull and empty. He knew logically that there was a relatively large cut on his hand, from a broken picture frame, but couldn’t find it in him to do anything about it.  
John couldn’t figure out what he had done wrong in his life. He had saved so many people. He wasn’t a religious man, but couldn’t help but wonder if this was payback for killing Mary. After thinking about it though, he realized that Mary had slept with someone else, and gave birth to someone else’s child, before he had ever considered needing to kill her in order to save Sherlock.  
Finally, the pain from the cut in his hand broke through into his thoughts. He looked down and was surprised to see how deep the cut was, and how much blood had been dripping on the floor. Then, he looked up and saw that the room was a complete and utter disaster. There was no way he or Rosie would be able to sleep here for a while.  
Rosie.  
The name of the child that wasn’t his. Then he scolded himself for thinking that. Rosie would always be his daughter. She had done nothing wrong in this world, and deserved a home, and a father. He realized he didn’t care who her biological father was, she was his to love.  
Then another sudden thought jolted into his mind. He had left Rosie with Sherlock. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust him with her, but he had once explained to Sherlock that children of a certain age could not be expected to care for themselves, and most certainly should not be allowed to play with a lighter.  
Moving quickly back down the stairs, holding his bloody hand, opened the door to the living room and saw a quite unexpected sight.  
Sherlock and Rosie were still in the chair which he had last seen them. Rosie was curled up in Sherlock arm, fast asleep. Sherlock too had drifted off, head lolling to one side, with his hand still lightly holding onto a book. John moved over to the sleeping pair, and took the book out of Sherlock’s hand, smiling when he saw what it was about.  
They were both breathing heavy, and John felt a stab of guilt. He wasn’t sure about what though. He set the book on the side table, and walked into the kitchen to clean the cut on his hand, and wrap some gauze around it. Moving back into the room, he sat on the floor and leaned against the bottom of Sherlock’s chair. Soon his anger completely seeped out of him, and was also left feeling tired. Without realizing he also fell asleep, his upper body supported by Sherlock’s legs.  
*****************************  
Sherlock was the first awake, but didn’t move at all, after realizing that both Rosie, and now John were now sleeping against him. The room was silent, except for their breathing. His mind felt oddly still. There weren’t the million distracting thoughts running through his head like normal. He felt present in his body, in his mind, and in the moment, which was something that hadn’t happened to him for a long time.  
He knew that this wasn’t good. That having attachments would just make it easier for people like Moriarty to control him. But he knew that he wouldn’t be able to help it at this point. Anyone who knew about Sherlock Holmes knew that they could use John Watson to get to him. He thought back to Magnusson’s logic. It had almost worked for him, until Sherlock had shot him.  
Thinking about Magnussen got him thinking to what had happened after that. Being arrested. Mycroft sending him away to a place he was sure to die in. And how close he had gotten to telling John. There had been so many instances now where the words had been in his throat, heavy, and weighing him down.  
Even after the events on the tarmac—a hand shake that was not nearly close to a proper finish to what they had shared—there were other times he had come close. After his near-fatal overdose he knew, if was somewhat ignoring it that if he were to fail, or fall, John would be there for him.  
He almost told him, once the drugs had worn off. Almost told him that he hadn’t taken any of those drugs after finding out about Moriarty, and needing to get to his ‘mind-palace’. He had taken those all before even getting on the plane. He knew he was going to die anyway, so why wait till his last memory of John Watson’s face had grown pale and distant? But Mary was still there then. Carrying what he and John both thought to be John’s baby. There was no way he could have told him again then.  
And he had come so close to telling him after Mary’s death, when they were both standing together in 221B Baker Street, and John started expressing his guilt to his wife who was buried miles away. The words had come up again then. But this time he knew it wasn’t a good time again. Instead he stood up and pulled John into his arms, and they had stood there for a long time. Then Sherlock had reassured John that no one could ever be perfect, even him.  
Sitting here now, with a baby girl in his arms, and John leaning against his legs, he felt the words rise up again. But this time John would still be getting over the shock, and there would be no one there to hear him. But wasn’t that perfect? No one there to hear him practice saying the words out loud.  
He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He had never had problems saying what was on his mind before, but this seemed so very different. He tried telling himself that they were just words, that carried no real meaning, but he also knew that they did. The only time he had ever said these words before was to his dog, Redbeard.  
He opened his mouth again, and to the open air in front of him, whispered “I love you.”  
He could almost see the words dancing in front of him, trying to find someplace to go. He shut his eyes, and knew that someday the perfect moment would come along; he would just have to be watching for it.  
***************************  
Mrs. Hudson came running up the stairs, and burst into the living room, where at the sight and sound of her, Sherlock quickly stood up, and held Rosie protectively. John was also quick to his feet, eyes still a bit red, and looked around to make sure everything was alright.  
“At the door!” Mrs. Hudson said, her breathing heavy.  
“What it?” Sherlock said.  
“Oh, it’s too terrible.” Mrs. Hudson said, moving into the room and taking Rosie from Sherlock’s arms as both men started to move out of the room.  
“Keep her safe.” John told Mrs. Hudson, before they both disappeared down the stairs.  
The door was open slightly, allowing one to see that there was a large brown parcel on the front step. Sherlock stepped out first, bending down to look closer at it. He could see a large amount of blood had started seeping through one corner of it, and onto the pavement. John was right behind, saw what was happening, and moved down onto the street, looking for someone who could have dropped it there.  
“It’s been here for about 10 minutes, whoever left it is long gone.” Sherlock informed him.  
John nodded, and then looked back down at the package.  
“We should bring it inside.” Sherlock said. “I want to see what it is.”  
“No. What if it’s got a bomb, or is toxic?” John said. “We can’t bring it in there with Mrs. Hudson, and my daughter.”  
Sherlock nodded, it was a good point. But what he was most interested in was that John had decided to call Rosie his daughter. That was good for all of them.  
“So where do we bring it?” John asked.  
“Barts.” Sherlock answered. “Send a text to Mrs. H to let her know.”  
************************************  
At Barts Sherlock carefully set the package on one of the clean countertops. John followed him in, and both sighed in relief.  
They weren’t able to rule out that it could be some sort of bloody bomb, so John refused to take any sort of public transit. Instead, they walked the entire way. Mostly they had gotten strange looks, with the blood continuously seeping out of the brown package, but one police officer had stopped to question them.  
After Sherlock had rudely explained what it could have been, and who he was, the young office had let them pass, pale as ever, and as Sherlock had told him, hoping that he wouldn’t lose his job for it.  
Now Sherlock was using one of the machines to make sure that whatever was in there wouldn’t literally explode in their faces as soon as they opened it.  
“It’s all organic matter.” Sherlock said as soon as the machine had finished.  
They both put on plastic gloves, and Sherlock carefully removed the tape holding the top of the package together. As soon as the top was opened, they both looked inside, and then recoiled.  
Inside the package, was the neck and head of a woman. Her hair was red, and glassed over eyes open.  
“This is terrible.” John said, as Sherlock started to remove the other sides of the package.  
“This has got to be Moriarty. The next ‘clue’ if you will.” Sherlock said. When there was no more cardboard both John and Sherlock could plainly see that the cause of death had been strangulation, as her neck was bruised, red, and cut from what looked like some sort of thick string.  
“Does she look familiar to you?” John asked, moving to get a better look of her face.  
“No.” Sherlock said. “Do you know her?”  
John thought for a moment, before Sherlock could see on his face that he realized.  
“Yeah. She flirted at me on the bus a month or so ago.” John said, voice going dull.  
Sherlock looked up at John again, and felt so bad for his friend. This had not been a good day for either of them.


	5. Chapter 5: It's Been a Long Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone noticed and/or was upset that I missed a week of updating this I apologize. I was sick all last week, and had family visiting, so was a tiny bit busy. Then it took awhile to get back into the swing of whatever the heck I'm writing. Anyway, enjoy chapter 5! If anyone has any suggestions as to something you want to happen in this story feel free to leave a comment, and I'll either do some wish-fulfillment, or do the exact opposite.

“It was while Mary was still alive.” John said sadly. “She gave me her number, and I was going to throw it away…but I kept it.”   
“Why did you keep it?” Sherlock asked, trying his best not to sound accusing.  
John shrugged and buried his head in his hands. “I don’t know why I did.”  
“Is this what you meant when you said you cheated on her?” Sherlock asked. Thinking back to the day before John had moved back into Baker Street, and the last time he had seen John talking to the memory of Mary. John nodded.   
“Texting somebody isn’t cheating John.” Sherlock said, certain he had reassured John of this before. “Texting doesn’t really mean anything these days.”   
John’s eyes rose to meet Sherlock’s. “So you and The Women?” He asked, a little shakily.  
“The last time I saw her was—“  
“When you saved her life.” John finished for him.   
“Yes.”   
“So you and her never…?”  
“No. Neither of us were ever interested in that sort of thing with each other.” Sherlock said, in a tone that indicated that this conversation was over.   
John recognized it, and stood up from where he had been sitting and walked over to Sherlock, cringing slightly again at the sight of the severed head. “So why would Moriarty send us..this.” He asked.  
Sherlock thought for a moment. “I think he’s trying to separate us again.”   
“How would this separate us?” John said, looking at Sherlock, who was not looking back.  
“He’s trying to get you to see that being around me is dangerous, not just for the people you love, but for anyone you know. He’s doing what he did last time, and trying to isolate me from any sort of help.”   
“Well that’s not gonna happen.” John said determined, and this time Sherlock did look at him. “We already decided. No secrets, none of what happened last time. We do this one together.”   
Sherlock smiled, only a little, then shut the eyes of the women.   
**************************  
When John and Sherlock returned to Baker Street, Ms. Hudson met them at the door.   
“Oh! Thank god you’re alright! You could have called me sooner!” She cried.   
“Sorry about that. We kind of got carried away.” John tried to explain as Sherlock pushed past her.   
“You text me telling me that there might be a bomb outside our door, and then you leave me for hours wondering where you’ve gone off to and if you’re okay!” She continued her rant, following Sherlock and John upstairs.   
“Sorry again!” John said. “Is Rosie asleep?”   
“Yes. I put her down for a nap half an hour ago.” Ms. Hudson said, starting to calm down a little.   
Sherlock was already back at the table, again examining the papers with the hidden tarot cards on them.   
Quite some time passed before Sherlock spoke to anyone. John had given up trying to ask what he was looking for, and had sat down to read the paper when he finally heard Sherlock’s chair moving out from the table behind him.   
John put the paper down, and walked into the kitchen, and found that Sherlock had rearranged the papers, in a seemingly completely random way. Sherlock was standing up, and looking straight down at them.   
“What did you find?” John asked.  
“It’s a map.” Sherlock said. “See these small lines here, that are slightly darker than the rest on each of the cards? I kept moving the papers around until they all lined up, and it’s a pretty broad map of London.”  
John looked down at the papers again, this time looking for the line Sherlock had described. And sure enough, as soon as he let his focus off of their pictures, he could see the lines, and then soon see how they resembled London.   
“So if it’s a map, then it has to lead to somewhere, right?” John said. “Like a pirate map.”   
“Yes. Obviously not all the streets of London are shown here, mostly just main ones. But, if you look here, they all seem to lead to this one spot.” Here, Sherlock pointed to where many of the lines converged, in the middle of the Tower card.   
“So where is this really?” John said, looking for any distinctly shaped streets that he would be able to recognize.   
“Borough Market.” Sherlock said. “We’ll have to go there.”   
“I agree, but it’s far too late for it now. Look outside Sherlock, it’s already dark. And should I remind you of all the other things that we’ve done today? We wait till tomorrow.”   
Sherlock reluctantly agreed.   
After dinner, John was about to head upstairs, Rosie propped on his waist, when he remembered. He had essentially torn up his and Rosie’s room to shreds earlier in the day. That had felt like ages ago. He could hardly remember it happening. Without looking at the bandage on his hand, he would have questioned if it really had happened.   
He set Rosie down in a pack-and-play and went up to the room to see what he would be able to use. Rosie’s crib was still fine, but all the blankets and pillows on his bed either were torn, or had his blood on it. He moved the crib downstairs, and set Rosie in it, giving her a stuffed animal and blanket.   
Sherlock had been getting ready for bed as well, when he too remembered what had happened earlier. After he was done in the bathroom, he went back out to the living room, to see what he could do to help, but John had already fallen asleep on the couch, with not blankets on.   
Moving back to his room, Sherlock grabbed the top two blankets of his bed, and brought them back out. He set them carefully on John, making sure not to wake him.   
He thought back to sitting in his chair earlier, and what he had spoken out loud. He had almost forgotten it had happened. Almost forgotten that those words had actually left his mouth. Even if John hadn’t been awake to hear it. Then he remembered John saying “we do this one together” back at Barts. And he found himself wondering if John had things he had trouble saying out loud too.   
He walked back to his bed room, and then realized that he had taken the blankets off his bed for John. He moved back to the living room, and slowly laid on the floor next to the couch, pulling down one of the blankets so half of it would cover him. His last thought before he fell asleep was that he hoped he would wake up first, so he wouldn’t have to explain this.   
*******************************  
In reality, Rosie was the first to wake up. And she woke up screaming. Her cries sent both John and Sherlock upright. Sherlock, a tiny bit embarrassed to have been found sleeping on the floor next to John, and John, confused to find that at some point in the night blankets had been put on top of him, and even more surprised to see Sherlock’s curly head of hair pop up into view from where he was laying on the ground.   
Once both had assured themselves that no one was trying to murder Rosie, they were able to loosen the tension in their bodies. John carefully stepped over Sherlock, and went to pick up his daughter. She stopped crying as soon as he had changed her diaper, and then put her in hair high chair with some breakfast.   
While John had been doing that, Sherlock had taken the blankets back to his room, and gotten dressed.   
When he returned to the living room, John was dressed, and sitting at the table eating some cereal.   
“As soon as you’re finished we’ll head to that market.” Sherlock said.   
John looked up at him. “Eat something.” He said, not a suggestion. “There’s toast in the kitchen.”   
“You know I don’t eat during a case.” Sherlock said, taken aback.   
“A little bit of toast isn’t going to hurt you. Eat it, or I won’t come with you today.”   
“I’ll just go by myself then.” Sherlock said, a little tentatively.   
John stared at him. Eventually, Sherlock walked into the kitchen and grabbed the bread.   
**********************************  
“Please remind me why we have a baby with us?” Sherlock said looking down at the stroller John was pushing, with Rosie in it as they approached the market.   
“Because Ms. Hudson has an appointment today.” John said, for what felt like the hundredth time.   
The market was located near the Thames, and the sky was blue, a rarity for London. It was still fairly early in the morning, so the covered streets were still empty, and stalls were still setting out their fresh goods.   
“So what are we doing here?” John asked, looking around.   
Sherlock pulled out the papers from Moriarty that had the barcodes on them from his pocket. “I was so close with these the other day. In fact I was along the Thames, but on the other side. If this is where our map leads to, then I’m sure these will come into play.”   
“Remind me what they are again.” John said.   
“Oysters, perfume, a stuffed animal, lipstick, and eye contacts.” Sherlock said.   
“So we find a stall that sells all those items?” John said, picking the stroller up so it wouldn’t hit a large bump in the road.  
“More likely we find different stalls that sell these items that are located close together, and then find out what they have in common, or what lies between them.” Sherlock replied.   
“Okay. Let’s start looking.”   
The market was fairly large, so it took a while to cover much ground. As the day went on the crowds started getting larger and larger, a mix of locals coming to do their shopping, and tourists wanting to see all the different colors of the stalls.   
Eventually John noticed a large red stuffed animal lobster, which was what the bar code had been for. After looking closer at the stalls around it, they were able to find the rest of the items at different stalls.   
The 5 different stalls were all located within one circular area of the market, with one at each side.   
After talking to the stall owners, examining the space and distances between them, and looking at the ground and the clear glass ceiling above them, they were unable to find anything out of the ordinary.   
“So do we buy all these things then?” John asked with a short sigh.   
Sherlock looked around the room again. “We walked through here earlier, didn’t we?” He asked.   
John also looked around. “Yeah, I guess we did. I suppose we weren’t really paying attention at this point.”   
“This is when you asked what we were looking for, so that makes sense.” Sherlock said.   
John shrugged. Sherlock moved back to the entrance where they had first entered the market, and then walked along the path they first took. John followed. Suddenly, Sherlock stopped, and looked down at the ground.   
John maneuvered the stroller around him, so he could see as well. There was the cerement bump in the pavement he had avoided with the stroller earlier. At a closer inspection John noticed that that section of pavement was darker than the rest around it, so it had been set fairly recently. Sherlock smiled. “Call Lestrade.” He said. “We’re setting up a crime scene."


	6. Chapter 6: Concrete and Baby Strollers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice! Chapter 6! I'm thinking of aiming for 10 chapters right now, maybe more if I feel like it needs it. Again, if you have suggestions or ideas for what should happen in this fic, in either the next chapter, or far in the future, leave a comment and I'll decide if I want to do some fun wish fulfillment, or do just the opposite. Also, I don't know if I've addressed this or not, but there will be no smut in this fanfiction. Just fluffy cute moments at SOME point. So I don't know if that makes you want to stop reading this, or makes you more excited, but that's what I'm doing.  
> Thanks for the support! Here's to at least 4 more chapters.

It took about 10 minutes for Lestrade and a crew from Scotland Yard to arrive at the market, get people out of the way, and set up yellow police tape. Lestrade had tried questioning Sherlock about what might be under the concrete lump, but Sherlock hadn’t given any clues. There was the usual taking pictures of everything before they could remove the concrete to figure it out, and quite a crowd had grown around the outskirt of the small plaza. After pictures and notes were taken, a worker carefully was able to chip away at the spot.   
The time it took was agonizing. Sherlock had insisted on watching the whole thing, but eventually lost patience, and walked over to a bench where John was sat, the stroller with Rosie in it on the other side of him.   
“Still nothing?” John asked.   
Sherlock shook his head. “Guess this is why we didn’t call Lestrade when we found the head outside our door.”   
John laughed a little, which was a relief to Sherlock.   
Finally the worker stood up and announced that the concrete was removed, and it was safe to get whatever had been placed there.  
John and Sherlock walked quickly over to where the rest of the officers had gathered. Sherlock pushed ahead, and bent down to look what was there. Carefully he reached in.   
“Don’t! It could be a bomb!” Lestrade said, trying to stop Sherlock, but it didn’t work.  
Sherlock pulled out a dirty, green cloth bag. Before opening it he looked around the crevice it had made, confirming there was nothing else in there.   
Then he reached over, and opened the bag. Everyone who had been holding their breathes, let them out in obvious confusion and disappointment when they saw what it was. A bunch of oysters.   
John pushed forward and looked down at it. “The oysters from the bar code?” He asked.   
“Must be.” Sherlock said.   
“Really? This is what we came down here for?” Lestrade asked incredulously.   
Sherlock thought for a moment, then started opening one of the oysters, throwing it to the side when he found it empty. “Help me open all these.” He said without stopping his work. John, Lestrade, and two of the other officers bent down and started cracking open the oysters.   
There was quite a bit of them, so it took a while to get through the pile halfway. Finally, one of the officers stopped, and she gasped loud enough that the others heard her, and stopped as well. She held her palm out and there was the black pearl of the Borgias.   
Lestrade stared at it. The pearl might not have been impressive to someone who had no idea what it was, but to anyone who knew about the legend of the pearl of Borgias would have had the same reaction. Despite the fact that it was a black pearl, the color of it was almost gray, and it shined, even in the limited light provided in the room. John took it out of the officer’s hand, and was surprised at how large it actually was.   
“Is this the one then?” John asked, handing it to Lestrade. “The one you’ve been looking for.”   
Lestrade looked closely at the pearl. “We won’t know for sure until we give it the proper tests, but if I had to bet money on it, I would say it is. How did you do it, Sherlock?” Lestrade asked, peeling his eyes of the gem.   
Sherlock didn’t reply, and wasn’t looking at the pearl. Instead he was examining the oyster which is had come out of. He looked at the officer. “Did you notice anything different about this one before opening it?”   
“Not really. Except that it was much easier to open. Of course that oyster there didn’t make this pearl though, so that makes sense.” She said.   
Sherlock nodded. The rest of the officers had crowded around now, wanting to get a good look at the famous pearl that had gone missing, and now was apparently found. The crowds of people being held back by the police tape started getting nosier as well.   
The two officers that had been helping with the oysters, Lestrade, John and Sherlock all stood up from where they had been standing.   
“Guess I best get this to the professionals.” Lestrade said, smiling now. “Man is Liverpool going to be upset when they hear that Scotland Yard found their precious pearl. This thing could be worth millions.”   
The officers started to clean up the area, and John and Sherlock stepped aside.   
“What does the pearl have to do with Moriarty?” John asked quietly.   
Sherlock shrugged. “For some reason he wanted me to find it.”   
“Do you think he’s trying to build up your public image, so he can tear it down again?” John suggested.   
“If we wanted to do that he wouldn’t have hacked into your blog.”   
“I say next time we see him, one of us shoots him in the head so we don’t have to deal with him anymore, and can move on with our lives.” John said, crossing his arms, and staring past a point off Sherlock’s shoulder.   
Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but then John turned around widely.   
“Where’s Rosie?” He said, more of a scream than a question.”   
Sherlock’s eyes widened, and turned in a circle, finding the bench they had been sitting on before the oysters. The stroller was there. He quickly tugged on John’s sleeve, and they both ran over to it.   
John pulled back the hood, and looked in the stroller, only to see that it was empty. His hands flew back behind his head, pulling on his hair.   
Sherlock, doing the only thing he knew how to do, examined the stroller, and then the area around it.   
John started pacing. Sherlock stood up fully, and then handed John a small piece of scrap paper with scratchy handwriting on it. It read; “This time, don’t go to your little police friends. You don’t tell anybody.”   
John smiled dangerously, the smile he gave when he was very angry. “I’m really going to kill him now.” He said.   
In a diversion from normal, Sherlock asked John, “What do we do?”   
John looked at him. “What do you mean?”   
“Do we do this ourselves, like he obviously wants us to, or do we tell someone.” Sherlock said, letting John pick this time.   
John sighed shakily. “If we decide to go it alone, we can’t go back to Baker Street. Ms. Hudson will know.”   
Sherlock didn’t say anything.   
“I mean, if we tell Lestrade, he’s gonna know somehow.” John continued. “This whole thing must have been a trap.”   
Sherlock nodded. “My guess is he hoped that we would have to bring Rosie to either here, or to the physic, and would take her then. I can’t believe I didn’t see this before.” As he finished talking he sat down on the bench.   
“We’re going to have to do it ourselves. If we tell anyone, he’ll know, just like he knows everything else. He has her.” John said, decided.   
“Are you sure?” Sherlock asked, not questioning the choice, but making sure John was ready for it. John nodded.   
**************************  
After catching a cab out of the market, John and Sherlock found the cheapest hotel that they could inside London. They only had whatever they had brought out of Baker Street with them that morning, which wasn’t a lot; because they hadn’t thought that they might not be able to return.   
They had had only one argument, and it was on the matter of what to do. Neither had a set side they were defending, just throwing out the facts as they saw them. John thought that they needed to start searching any place that Moriarty had been known to hide out before. Sherlock thought that they would be able to start searching, but the only clues would come from waiting to see what Moriarty sent at them next. John didn’t react well to the word “wait.”  
Finally they cooled off. John had went out to the street, and brought back some food to the hotel room. Sherlock was laid across one of the two beds in the room, scanning websites for anything that could be of help.   
“I’ve got about 10 missed calls from Ms. Hudson.” He said, setting down the brown paper bag of food on the small table.   
Sherlock nodded. “I’ve got 50.”   
“We promised her not to run out on her again, like we did yesterday.” John said sadly.   
Sherlock agreed.   
The day moved on. Sherlock continued looking at things online. John started putting together a list of all the places they had dealt with Moriarty before, and trying to think of the most likely place he would hide a baby.   
This continued into 1 am. Neither had realized how late it had gotten, and had hardly eaten any of the food.   
When the battery on Sherlock’s phone died he threw it aside, and stood up, shaking his hair with his hands.   
“Ugh! I couldn’t find anything! Not on any criminal websites, not on the black market. I even checked fishermen forums, and nothing seems out of the ordinary. Nothing that he would do.” Sherlock said, the went over and looked to see what John had drawn up.  
The list consisted of not only places that they had seen Moriarty, such as Barts, and the pool, but also places that had to do with cases that had always been tied into Moriarty. This list was much longer, and included the buildings where John had shot the cabbie their first time together, the art museum with the forged paintings, and many others.   
“I’m not sure what good this list will do us.” John said putting his pencil down and stretching. Sherlock moved the top paper, and looked to see what John had been writing underneath it. Below it was a list of things that had to do with Mary. Where he had met her, anything she had ever said that had made John think for a second, and the little they knew about her past.   
John looked down at the list, was silent for a moment, then said “do you remember, the package that you got, back when Moriarty was doing all the bombings stuff? The brown envelope?”   
Sherlock thought back, to a time that seemed like several life time’s ago. “Yes.”   
And it had writing on it, and you looked at it, and said it was a women’s ‘obviously’.”   
“Yes.” Sherlock said, surprised that John remembered it.   
“Yesterday, I texted Lestrade and asked him to send me a picture of it. I was so mad at her, and started thinking about how long she could have been working with Moriarty.” He paused. “That was Mary’s handwriting on it. I recognized it.”   
“So she’s been in on it since the start.” Sherlock said, wondering why he hadn’t thought about the envelope, and unexplained women’s handwriting. Maybe he had just assumed it had been the Women’s.   
John got up, and went to the bathroom, shutting the door.   
Sherlock looked around the hotel room, at the mess they had made there. How quickly it had become home base, with food wrappers on the floor, and papers spread across tables. He wondered if anyplace could become theirs so quickly, like this one had.   
Sherlock tried to wait up for John to come out of the bathroom, but before he knew it he had fallen asleep on one of the beds. His last thought, was wondering why it took so quick for things to fall apart, and so long to be able to put them back together.


	7. Chapter 7: Looking Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so like honestly I just kinda had fun in this chapter bringing back some good ol' feels from past seasons. Back when we were sad for a good reason. Not sad cause the show turned into a piece of trash. I'm not salty at all. ANYWAY!!! I'm still aiming for ending at 10 chapters unless I get comments begging me to keep this going. So basically it's up to whoever is reading this. Let me know what you think! Happy reading.

Both John and Sherlock slept later than they had intended, not waking up till the sun was fully in the sky, and room service was knocking at the door.   
“Busy!” John called out, and the footsteps of the room service person moved down to the next door. After that they were both quick in getting up and getting ready.   
After cleaning themselves up as best they could, and trying their best to make the room not look like a mad scientist’s layer, they spoke about what the plans for the day would have to be.   
“We split up?” Sherlock suggested. “We’ll cover more ground that way.”   
John nodded. “We call each other if we find anything.”   
“If not..” Sherlock said, “We’ll meet up with each other at the identical buildings.”   
John’s lips narrowed, but he nodded. He handed Sherlock one of the papers with locations written on it, and they set off, walking outside the hotel together, then walking different directions on the street.   
*****************************  
John’s first stop was Bart’s. He took a cab to get there, as the faster he could check as many places as possible the better. His own daughter was missing. He couldn’t believe how oddly calm he felt, and once he realized that he felt terribly guilty.   
He checked all the floors on Bart’s, finally making it up to the roof top. There wasn’t a strong wind, but it felt like it was trying to push him off the edge. When he wasn’t able to find anything out of the ordinary, he moved to the side of the building that Sherlock had jumped from, all those years ago. He stood on the roof, not daring to get any closer. But he could see where he had been standing. The scene played in his mind clearly, but this time he was seeing it through Sherlock’s perspective.   
Then he heard the noise of the heavy door to the roof opening, the shutting, and he spun around, moving away from the edge. He didn’t know what he had been expecting. Hopeful to see Sherlock, terrified it might be Moriarty, but instead he saw Molly Hooper. She was tugging her lab coat around her, and then she saw John.   
“Oh, John.” She said. “It’s you.”  
“Who did you expect?” John asked, walking towards her.   
“I don’t know, I just saw someone had come up here, and wanted to check on them.” She said. “We’ve always had some problems with people being on this roof.”  
John smiled a little.   
“Are you looking for anything?” Molly asked.   
John was about to open his mouth to tell her, but then remembered the note they had gotten from Moriarty. Not to go to the police. Not to ask for help.   
“No. No.” John said, trying to come up with a good excuse to be here. “Guess I just needed to see it for myself.”   
Molly thought for a moment. “Did he tell you why he did it?”  
John didn’t need to ask who ‘he’ or ‘it’ was. He shook his head. “I tried asking, he said it was to disable Moriarty’s support group.”   
Molly gave a sad smile. She had always known. “It was to protect you. We had mics up here, listening to the conversation.”   
John was very surprised to hear this.   
Molly continued. “Sherlock thought he would be able to outsmart him that he would be able to walk off this roof, and go home. But then Moriarty told him that if he didn’t jump, you, Mrs. Hudson, and Greg Lestrade would die, that he had snipers placed on the three of you.”   
John processed this information. He had always been hurt that Sherlock would leave him alone, thinking he was dead for three years, simply to go off and hunt Moriarty’s network. He thought it might be hurting him more knowing the real truth. But then he thought about something else Molly had said.   
“You said you had mics?” John asked.   
She nodded.   
“After Sherlock…jumped, did you hear anything else up here?” John said, trying to sound casual, but wondering if this could perhaps tell them how Moriarty could have lived.  
Molly shook her head. “No. It was attached to Sherlock. Why?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.  
“No reason.” John said, moving past her to the door inside. “I’ve really got to get going now. Thank you, and goodbye.”  
**********************  
Sherlock had just arrived at the swimming pool where he and John had truly first meet Moriarty, and seen what he was capable of. It was where John had had a bomb strapped to his chest, and one of the first times Sherlock had really been confronted with how much John mattered to him.   
He thought back to John grabbing hold of Moriarty, telling him to run. Logic suggested that he should have, and then it would have been easier to get John out alive, but his feet hadn’t moved.   
He thought to tearing the bomb off of John, and throwing it away from them. John making a joke about them being in a darkened swimming pool.  
Then he thought back to Moriarty coming back into the room, and with one glance, him and John deciding that they would die together if it meant taking out Moriarty with them.   
He felt guilty for thinking that things might have turned out better if they had done it.   
But instead they ended up going back home to Baker Street, shaky and wondering what was going to come for them in the future. Now he was back here, years later. Sherlock had ‘died’; John had been married, widowed, and now a father. The only thing that didn’t feel like it had changed at all was they were still dealing with Moriarty. And Sherlock still hadn’t told John.   
He carefully examined the water, the tiles, everything. Nothing seemed to suggest that Moriarty had been here recently. He found himself standing in the same spot he stood so many years ago, and imagined the scene in his head. He saw John, with the red scope dots all over him.   
Sherlock’s eyes flew open, and he searched until he found a staircase leading up to the area he assumed judges would sit to watch performances. He lined up his eye sight, until it matched perfectly. This was where the sniper would have been sitting.   
Sherlock knew that it was highly unlikely he would find any evidence, it had been so long. And they already had all but proven that Mary had worked for Moriarty before meeting John. He didn’t know what good it would do to prove it farther, but he looked anyways. Nothing.   
*******************************  
More hours passed. John and Sherlock, in separate locations crossed names of people and places off their list. Neither had found anything that would lead them to the location of Moriarty, and Rosie.   
As the sun was setting, both got out of a cab in the parking lot of the identical buildings. The cabs pulled away, and John and Sherlock walked to each other.   
“Nothing.” John said, sullenly. He looked up at Sherlock, and thought back to the morning, and what Molly had said about why Sherlock had really jumped. He had been thinking about it most of the day. Part of his mind couldn’t stop thinking “he did it for me” but the other part of his mind was telling him that he wasn’t the only one who had been in danger. Lestrade and Ms. Hudson also had been in the line of fire.   
“Nothing.” Sherlock echoed.   
A couple star starting popping up in the darker end of the sky.   
Sherlock faced the building to the right. “I’ll go in this one.”  
John nodded, and faced the one on the left. “I wonder how much it cost to replace the windows for the two buildings.”   
Sherlock smiled. They both didn’t often think about their first case together. They often forgot that within the first 24 hours of meeting each other, John had already killed a man to keep Sherlock safe. Walking into the building, Sherlock promised himself to think about that more often.   
It didn’t take long for them to find the rooms they had been in so long ago. The checked under tables, and under chairs. Rummaged through drawers, neither quite sure what exactly they were hoping to find.   
Eventually they stopped, and look out the windows at each other. Not a lot of space separated them, but it was enough. Sherlock’s phone rang; looking down at it he saw it was another call from Ms. Hudson. He had been getting them all day, but had been ignoring it.   
Sherlock and John meet back outside of the buildings, the sun was now fully set.   
“Who called you?” John asked.   
“Ms. Hudson again.” Sherlock responded.   
John thought about the amount of calls that they had been getting from her. Normally she didn’t freak out quite this much when they disappeared for a case. But then John thought about how Moriarty knew that Ms. Hudson was one of the few people Sherlock cared most about in the world.   
Quickly, John started walking back to find a main street, to get a cab. Confused, Sherlock followed. “Where are we going?” He asked.   
“We have to go back to Baker Street.” John said.   
“Wait, why?” Sherlock asked.   
John had hailed a cab, and they both got into the back together. John quickly told the cabbie the address.   
“Because Moriarty knows how to get to you.” John said, pulling out his phone and trying to call Ms. Hudson. “He’s done it before. She’s not going to be any safer than Rosie.”   
Sherlock realized what John was trying to explain. He hadn’t even thought that Ms. Hudson would be put back in danger. But it had happened so many times before, so why wouldn’t she now?   
The car ride was taking too long, and it was too silent.   
John was imaging all the worst scenarios that could take place when they arrived. He didn’t like the outcome of a good number of them.   
“Sherlock?” He said, somewhat quietly.   
“Yes.” Sherlock said in a deep voice, which usually meant he was busy thinking.   
Then the cab pulled up to Baker Street, and stopped.   
“It can wait.” John said.   
Sherlock nodded, and got out of the cab first. He stepped onto the pavement, in front of the door to their home, and before John could get out, the cab pulled out into traffic, and raced into the streets, pulling far away.


	8. Chapter 8: Houses and Hallways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohohoh we're getting to the end folks. I've decided I am going to end at chapter 10, but maybe if I get enough requests I'll do something really short, like a kind of epilogue after.   
> Sorry about the no updating last week, I was sick/busy/etc.   
> Anyways, here's chapter 8. Enjoy.

Sherlock stood rotted to the spot on the pavement as the cab pulled away into traffic. He heard the door of Baker Street open and close, and Mrs. Hudson came and stood in front of Sherlock.  
“Where have you been?” She shouted, and then she looked around. “Where are John and Rosie?”   
Sherlock’s eye focused on her, and he saw that she looked completely unharmed. “You’re safe?” He asked.   
Then Mrs. Hudson looked even more worried, “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be? Where are the other two?”   
“I need you to stay inside the flat.” Sherlock told her. “Stay by a phone, and call me if anything starts happening. I need your cell phone, mines dead.”  
Mrs. Hudson started to protest, but gave the cell phone in her pocket to him. Sherlock took off down the street in which the cab had gone. As he walked he dialed Lestrade, and told him the number of the cab that needed to be tracked. “Get officers to wherever it stops.” Sherlock demanded.  
“Sherlock, are you alright?” Lestrade asked, sounding concerned. “You hardly ever call for help.”   
“It’s not me. It’s John.” Sherlock said. Lestrade didn’t say anything else to him, but started barking out orders to whoever would listen to him. Sherlock hung up.   
*****************************  
John, sitting in the cab, took a deep breath. He looked out the windows, to try and get a general idea of what direction they were heading. He thought of Rosie in danger, of Mrs. Hudson, probably in danger, and now him in danger. He thought that he had an idea of what was coming, but dismissed the thought, as it was too painful to think about.   
The car kept driving, and driving, until they were no longer in London. At some point along the trip a parade of cop cars started following them. John knew of course that Sherlock had done that. He had gone against what they had decided; to not go to the police. He wondered what that meant for Rosie.   
Finally the car pulled into a side road, which went on for a bit longer before reaching a house that looked like it hadn’t been lived in in years. The bushes were over grown, and many of the windows were dark, besides the ones on the first floor. The cop cars had stopped as soon as the long drive widened into a makeshift parking area. The car that John was in pulled right up to the front door.   
“Get out, and walk inside.” Said the cab driver, who John had already accessed he had never seen before.   
“What if I don’t?” Asked John.   
“I shoot you.” The man replied.   
John got out of the side door, and looked behind him to the cars. Many of the police had already gotten out of the car, and had their guns pulled. John saw Sherlock and Lestrade standing behind them. He also heard Sherlock tell them not to shoot, and Lestrade echoing the command.   
John raised his hand halfway to them, then the driver rolled down his window, and pointed a shot gun at John’s chest. “Go.” He said gruffly.   
John turned his back to Sherlock and the others, and walked to the building, onto the porch, and opened the door. Stepping in, he was surprised to see that the inside of the house was in much better shape than the outside. A chandelier lit the entrance hallway, and the two wings to either side were lit as well.   
John looked the right, and saw what looked like an empty living room and dining area. To the left he saw what looked like a traditional private library, with one high-backed chair turned with its back to the entrance way. John walked that way. He walked over to the chair, and moved quickly in front of it, only to find that it was empty.   
There was soft laughter from an area John had completely walked past on his way to the chair. He turned quickly to see Moriarty sitting at the desk.   
“Hello, John.” Moriarty said.   
“Where’s my daughter.” John demanded.   
“Your daughter?” Moriarty asked with a smile. “I think we both know she’s not your daughter.”   
“That doesn’t matter.” John said.   
“Oh, but wouldn’t you like to know whose daughter she is really?” Moriarty crooned.   
“It wouldn’t change my opinion of everything. Either bring me to her, or tell me where she is.”   
“Oh.” Moriarty said, mocking surprise. “So much fierceness for such a little man. I’m surprised Sherlock hasn’t come in to save his pet yet. But then again, I do have them a bit occupied out there.”   
John moved to one of the windows, and pulled the curtain aside. He could see that some of the ‘officers’ had turned their guns on Sherlock, Lestrade, and some of the more confused looking officers. John’s hands clenched.   
“What do you want?” John asked, continuing to look out the window.   
“Something that somehow, you have.”   
“What could I possibly have that you would want?” John questioned.   
“The world’s most famous consulting detective.” Moriarty said.   
John stared at him, eyes squinted. “You want Sherlock…to what? Join your side?”   
Moriarty didn’t say anything, but smiled suggestively.   
“Sherlock may tell everyone that he’s heartless, but I know for a fact that he isn’t. So good luck with that.”   
“Oh, but imagine if he didn’t have a heart. Imagine us two together then.” Moriarty said, arms sweeping behind his neck.   
“It’s not going to happen.” John said defensively.   
“But what if I took away whatever matters most to him.” Moriarty said, looking directly at John.   
To this, John didn’t have an answer.   
Moriarty continued; “his poor pet John, out of the way, the baby taken away, he’ll be so broken. He’ll have nowhere to turn. You know what can happen to him if he gets bored. Have you ever seen him heartbroken?”   
Shooting started outside. John started to walk to the door, to do something to help but Moriarty stood up from the desk and stuck his arm out, stopping John.   
“You didn’t answer my question; have you ever seen him heartbroken.”   
“I don’t know.” John said quietly.   
“Interesting” Moriarty said.   
*************************  
Sherlock had ducked behind the police car that Lestrade and he had arrived in. Lestrade had also taken cover there too, and looked over at Sherlock.   
“Do you have a gun?” He asked.   
Sherlock shook his head, and caught the one that Lestrade tossed over to him. “Great screening process Scotland Yard has! What is this, half of your force, working for Moriarty?” He said.   
“Hey, hiring isn’t my division.” Lestrade said.  
“Of course it isn’t.” Sherlock said. “I need to get inside that house.”   
“I know you do.” Lestrade said, poking his head over to look through the car window, but ducked as a gunshot was heard and the window broke. “There’s probably a back door, I’ll cover you and you can try getting in that way.”  
Sherlock nodded.   
“When I say go.” Lestrade said, taking the safety off his gun. “Go!”  
Both of them jumped up at the same time, Sherlock running across the open area to the tree line that would allow him to safely get to the backside of the house.   
Lestrade held his gun out in front of him, and looked around. Everyone had ducked behind cars. He saw one person stand up, aiming at Sherlock. Lestrade swiftly shot him in the arm, and the gun was sent flying. Some more of the traitor officers, or maybe even fake officers-Lestrade wasn’t sure- started shooting in his direction. Some of the officers Lestrade knew he could trust stood up, and starting firing as well.   
Lestrade took one second to glace over to the side of the action, and saw Sherlock disappear behind the house. He knew that if Sherlock was safe, then John would be safe as well. But this one second cost Lestrade, and a lightning bolt of pain shot through him, and he looked down to see that the side of his shirt had been torn.   
He sunk down behind the car, looking at the wound. It hadn’t hit him full on in the chest, and he knew that this type of wound wouldn’t kill him. But the loss of blood might. With the hand that wasn’t applying pressure to the wound Lestrade reached for his walkie, and informed anyone that was listening of his location, and that some of the officers were no longer friendly. A voice replied saying that reinforcement was on their way.   
“Sherlock better bloody hurry up.” Lestrade grunted, letting his head rest against the car.   
********************************  
Sherlock had reached the back side of the house and was happily surprised to find a door, and even more pleased to see that it was unlocked. Part of Sherlock’s brain wondered why it was so easy to get in, but the only thoughts that held any merit at that point, where the ones about how he needed to get to John.   
This side of the house had no lights on, so Sherlock felt his way through the dark hallway until entering a room where natural light was coming through a window. Sherlock examined the room, taking in the worn run, the dusty tables, and stuck in the farthest corner of the room, a cradle. Sherlock rushed over to it, and sighed when he saw Rosie there, sleeping. She looked calm and relaxed, because of course she had no idea the danger she was in.   
“We’re going to get you out of here.” Sherlock told Rosie. “But we can’t leave without your daddy. So you have to stay here and be good, and I’m going to go find him. Then we’ll go back home, and nothing bad will ever happen to you again.”  
Rosie responded by snoring in her sleep.   
Sherlock let go of his tight grip on the side of the cradle, and walked back out to the hallway. Standing still for a moment, he let his eyes adjust. Now he could at least see a bit more of where he was going. He walked down the hallway, peeking into every door. Finally he opened the door at the end of the hall, and there was a brightly lit area. Though tall windows he could see the front yard. It appeared that the shooting had ceased for the moment.   
Then he heard speaking, the sound of John’s voice. He couldn’t quite make out the words though. He moved along the walls to that direction. He paused when he heard Moriarty’s voice. It had been awhile, and it felt strange to hear the words of someone he had considered dead. Someone he wished had truly died.   
“Oh!” He heard Moriarty exclaim loudly. “He’s hear. Come to save your pet?”   
Sherlock moved away from the wall, and out into the middle of the room, and saw that John had been made to sit in a chair behind a desk.   
John and Sherlock locked eyes, and Sherlock knew that John was wondering about Rosie. He briefly nodded his head. John’s eyes shut in relief, before opening again.   
“Well isn’t this nice.” Moriarty droned out. “The three of us, together again. But oh, wouldn’t it be better if it was just the two of us again Sherlock? Like up on that roof.”   
Sherlock held the gun that Lestrade had given him, and pointed it at Moriarty. “I can’t say I would enjoy that.” He said.   
“Oh okay, we’re playing with guns now are we? Good thing I brought mine too.” Moriarty said, taking his gun out of where he had been evidently keeping it in his back pocket. But instead of pointing it as Sherlock, Moriarty had the gun facing in John’s direction.   
Sherlock glanced to John, who still hadn’t taken his eyes off Sherlock.   
“You’ve done the math.” Sherlock said, turning back to Moriarty. “You know that if you shoot first, you will die, and even if you have enough time to shot your own gun John will be able to get out of the way.”   
“Oh, but you won’t shoot me.” Moriarty said.   
“Why wouldn’t I do that?” Sherlock asked.  
“Because you want to know how I survived.”


	9. Chapter 9: Pointing Guns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is half the length of all the other ones. This is because I wanted to end this chapter in a certain spot, and didn't have enough filler in to reach the normal length. To make up for this chapter 10 will either be published this week, or earlier than normal next week. At this point I am pretty sure that I am stopping at chapter 10, and it may be a little bit on the longer side to make up for this short one.  
> Also, don't hate me. Please. You just have to wait a little bit longer.

“Yes. Yes I do.” Sherlock said, lowering his gun.  
Moriarty smiled. “Be good now, and set the gun on the floor and I’ll tell you how I did it.”  
“Don’t.” John said. Hoping that his voice would be enough to bring Sherlock back to reality. Moriarty still had the gun pointed at Sherlock. But Moriarty’s attention was completely focused on Sherlock.  
Sherlock had heard John, and he wanted to be able to keep the gun in his hand, and shoot Moriarty, and be done with him once and for all. Only then would Sherlock feel comfortable enough to say anything he felt out loud. But the temptation of knowing how Moriarty had survived was so great. He knew that he would go crazy if he had to live his life without knowing.  
So Sherlock bent down and placed the gun on the floor in front of him. John let out a shaky sigh of disappointment.  
“Good.” Moriarty said, a smile slipping across his face. “Now kick it so you can’t reach it and I’ll put mine down.”  
Sherlock kicked his gun to the left of him, and John saw it sliding in his direction. He knew that if he moved fast enough, he could pick it up and fire it if he needed to. John looked at Moriarty to see if he would react to the new location of the gun, but Moriarty only lowered his gun arm. Now no one had guns on anyone.  
“Now tell me.” Sherlock said, deep voiced, eyes focused on Moriarty.  
*****************************************  
Outside, Lestrade saw that several more police cars had pulled into the dirt road, and a few officers rushed to meet him.  
“We need to get you to a hospital.” Said one of the officers.  
“No.” Said Lestrade, trying to stand up. “Those are my friends in there.”  
“Sir, you’re losing too much blood.”  
“I’ll get it fixed later. Right now we need to get inside.” He stood up, and looked over the car towards the house. “Take out the rest of the fake officers.”  
The officer who had been speaking to Lestrade looked reluctant, but ordered the rest behind him to move forward and carry out Lestrade’s order.  
Once the shooting ceased someone called that the coast was clear, and they started moving towards the house. But then there was a voice from within the cab.  
“Go any further and I blow the house, and most of those cars behind you.” The man said.  
Lestrade pushed his way past the wall of officers he had been made to stand behind and looked into the window of the cab.  
“What do you mean blow it?” Lestrade asked.  
The man held up an explosive detonator. “I’ve got C4 running throughout the wall of that house, and in some of your cars back there. They’ve been there for days. So you best back up and go sit in your cars, or everyone you know here is gonna be in pieces all over these trees.”  
Lestrade blanched. He wasn’t used to this kind of action. Murder solving usually didn’t involve so much action, as usually everyone was dead.  
He singled for the officers to move back. He knew John was in there, he knew Sherlock was in there. And he wasn’t going to be responsible for two of his closest friend’s deaths, even if it meant taking out London’s greatest threat.  
And so the group moved back. Lestrade sat in one of the cars, and allowed one of the officers who told him she had some medical training examine the gun shot. He felt more worthless than he ever had before.  
******************************  
Moriarty started laughing.  
John and Sherlock both looked at each other, confused.  
“What is it?” Sherlock asked. He took a step towards Moriarty, but he held his gun up higher to stop Sherlock.  
Moriarty continued laughing for an uncomfortable amount of time. Finally he took a deep breath.  
“Oh Sherlock.” He said, curling Sherlock’s name in such a way it didn’t sound quite right. “I’m not going to tell you that easily.” He laughed a bit again. “You think all you have to do it put your gun on the floor and I’ll explain the most detailed fake death ever.”  
“What do I do then?” Sherlock asked.  
“Sherlock.” John said under his breath, trying to stop him.  
“You come with me.” Moriarty said.  
“Come with you?” Sherlock asked, confused.  
“Imagine how good we’d be together.” Moriarty said. “Of course there’s one thing that we would have to get rid of for that to work, now wouldn’t we.” Moriarty said, mimicking a thinking position.  
“What?”  
“Those awful feelings of yours.” Moriarty said. “They keep messing with your brain.”  
Sherlock didn’t say anything. John started to stand up, but Moriarty’s gun snapped in his direction. John stood still behind the desk.  
“Him.” Moriarty said, gun still pointing at John, although looking at Sherlock. “He’s made you soft.” Moriarty said, sounding angrier than either of them had ever heard him before. “Before him you would never had any of these problems. You never would have gone into hiding for two years. You wouldn’t have had to ‘die.’ We need to get rid of him for us to work.” Moriarty said.  
“Sherlock.” John said, this time pleading him to look at him.  
Sherlock’s eyes had glazed over, and John knew he was trying to figure something out. But that would take too long.  
Moriarty now pointed his gun in Sherlock’s direction. “You better say something.”  
John took this opportunity. He valuated over the desk, bent down, grabbed the gun that Sherlock had brought in, and shot it.  
At almost exactly the same time, two gun shots went off. This was then followed by the sound of one standing body hitting the floor, and then another body following.  
There was the sound of someone saying ‘no’ over and over again, and John thought he felt something being pushed against his side. It felt strong. Maybe like a hand. He wasn’t sure. John thought it odd that he couldn’t really see anything. Then he heard something that he defiantly didn’t expect to hear. Someone, the same person who had been saying ‘no’ then started saying “I love you” and “don’t leave me” and other sweet things. John thought to himself that the voice sounded very familiar, but then his hearing stopped, like his sight. And then soon feeling.


	10. Chapter 10: Complete at Last

Everything hurt. His head hurt, his chest hurt, everything seemed painful. Opening his eyes and seeing bright lights in a white room hurt. Before his eyes could open any further than a crack a nurse rushed in and tended to some of the beeping computers, and other things that John assumed were keeping him alive.   
“What happened?” John asked, his throat dry, and voice scratchy.   
“You got into a bit of trouble. You underwent some surgery, and have been moved to this room where you’ll be staying for a little bit. Just a couple more days in here and you’ll be fine.” The nurse said. “You were lucky that the bullet didn’t hit anything important.” A smile. “You have some company. Should I let them in?”   
John nodded, or at least tried to. He stopped when his head hurt too much and simply replied with “yes.”   
“Okay.” The nurse said. “But there’s a lot of people out here to see you, so I’m just going to let them in one at a time.” The nurse then left.   
A minute or so later the door opened. John had been expecting to see Sherlock, but instead was greeted by Mrs. Hudson, and his daughter.   
“Daddy!” Rosie cried, her first word, arm’s out stretched to her father.   
John smiled. He had figured out how to sit the bed up, and did so. He let Rosie hold tight onto his hands, unable to hold her quite yet.   
“You’re okay Mrs. H?” John asked, not taking his eyes off Rosie.   
“You’re not allowed to ask me that.” Mrs. Hudson said. “You’re the one that’s lying in a hospital bed.”   
John laughed. Shutting his eyes he thought of one of the last things he could remember. “What…Moriarty…is he…?” John tried.   
“Dead.” Mrs. Hudson said, voice hard. This time he is defiantly dead, and you don’t have to worry about him anymore.”   
John sighed in relief. “And Sherlock?”   
“Is waiting outside. Completely safe.” Mrs. Hudson finished.   
“Good. Good. Good.” John said multiple times without really realizing it.   
Now he looked directly at Rosie. “I am so sorry.” He said. “I never should have taken my eyes off of you. I never will again. I promise.”   
Rosie just tried out her new word again; “Daddy!”   
John smiled. He wanted to take her in his arms, and never let go again, but as a doctor, understood that he really shouldn’t.   
***********************  
After Mrs. Hudson had left with Rosie, the door opened again. John tried not to show his disappointment when he saw Lestrade walk though.   
“How you doing, mate?” Lestrade asked, sitting in the chair next to him.   
“As well as someone who was shot could be.” John said, and then realized that Lestrade was holding his side, and could see lots of gauze and bandages under his shirt. “What happened to you?” John asked.   
“Got nicked with a bullet from one of those fake officers.” Lestrade said. “Not quite as bad as your injury though.”   
“What happened after I blacked out?” John asked, not sure if ‘blacked out’ was the correct term for what had happened.   
“Well the guy in the taxi cab, with all the bomb stuff drove away—we’re tracking him right now—and so me and the actual police officers stormed inside. You were bleeding against a desk, and Sherlock was with you. One of my guys called another ambulance, and then I went over to check on Moriarty. He’s defiantly dead this time. Thanks to you.” Lestrade explained.   
John processed this information, brain still foggy from the pain killers. He thought about what Lestrade had just said, about Sherlock being next to him after he had been shot. John’s memory started to come back. He could remember not being able to see. And someone’s, presumably Sherlock’s, hand pressed to his wound.   
“Thanks.” John said.   
Lestrade nodded, stand nodded up and walking towards the door. Before leaving he turned back and said “Oh and hey, don’t worry. I’m not going to arrest you.”   
“What?” John asked, concerned that someone in Moriarty’s system had leaked what had happened with Mary.   
“For killing Moriarty.” Lestrade said. “In fact, I think we might owe you one.”   
***************************  
Each time the door to John’s hospital room opened, he became more and more disappointed with each new person that wasn’t Sherlock.   
Next Mike Stanford came in. He bumbled on and on for much longer than John would have cared for.   
After that it was his sister, Harry. That conversation was tense and awkward, and didn’t last too long before Harry had to leave.   
Molly visited. They didn’t discuss much, but Molly did leave some flowers on the table in the room. They were a bright color in the sea of white.   
After Molly, Mycroft came in into the room. John was a little surprised by this visitor, and Mycroft was able to see that.   
“You’re wondering why I’m here.” Mycroft asked.   
“That one is a bit obvious, don’t you think?” John asked.   
Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Well you did just kill the man I’ve been trying to get rid of for more than a decade now.”   
John shrugged. “And how many of those years were you feeding him information?”   
“I thought that perhaps we could forget about that.” Mycroft said.   
John scoffed. “Yeah. That will never happen.”   
Mycroft sat in the chair, which John took as a sign of defeat.   
“Where is Sherlock?” John asked.   
“He hasn’t come in yet?” Mycroft asked surprised.   
“Would I have asked that if he hadn’t?” John countered.   
Mycroft considered the situation. He thought back to seeing his brother sitting in the waiting room. They hadn’t said anything to each other. That had been strange. He thought a minute more.   
“What did he tell you?” Mycroft asked cautiously.   
“Nothing!” John said, starting to get impatient. “He hasn’t come in here yet.”  
“No, back at the house. Did he say something to you after you had gotten shot?” Mycroft asked.   
John paused to think about that. “I don’t remember.” He said slowly, trying to think back.   
“Interesting.” Mycroft said, letting a silence fall.   
“Well, if you have nothing else for me today, you can send your brother in here.” John said.   
**************************  
Sherlock looked up from where he hand been holding his head in-between his knees as he heard the footsteps of Mycroft enter the waiting room.   
Everyone else had gone home now. Mrs. Hudson had taken Rosie home, saying they would come back as soon as they could. Lestrade had gone back to his house, to rest. Mike Stanford had tried to stay longer, but eventually had gotten a call from someone, and then he left. Harry, who hadn’t spoken to Sherlock ,but had stared at him the entire time, had left as soon as she was done talking to John. And Molly also had left.   
“He wants to see you.” Mycroft said, standing above Sherlock, slouched in the chair.   
Sherlock started tapping his foot anxiously. “Yes.” He looked towards the hall to John’s room.   
“You told him something.” Mycroft said.   
“Yes.” Sherlock said again, not feeling up to arguing.   
“Whatever you said…” Mycroft said, and they both knew very well that he knew what Sherlock had said. “He doesn’t remember.”   
Sherlock nodded.   
“Is that a good thing?” Mycroft asked, trying to test the waters.   
“I’m not sure.” Sherlock said, finally getting out more than a one word sentence.   
Another silence.   
“You better get in there before he shoots you too.” Mycroft finally said, before he turned and left the hospital.   
*******************  
John’s door opened again, and when he looked to see who it was, he finally saw Sherlock.   
“How…are you?” Sherlock asked.  
The sound of his voice reminded John. Sherlock had told him something as he had laid on the floor of that old house. John shut his eyes. He remembered the darkness. He could remember Sherlock’s hand pressed hard against the wound, to prevent any further blood loss, like John had taught him. He remembered a torrent of the word “no”. Then he remembered the same voice saying “Please don’t leave me like this. Please. I love you.”   
John’s opened his eyes, which were now stinging, and filling with emotion. “You love me?”  
******************************  
The question hit Sherlock full force. He took an unconscious, mouth opening, his body trying to get a breath.   
“Well?” John asked. His voice had gone very quiet.   
“Yes.” Sherlock said, equally as quite.   
John shut his eyes again, and pressed his hands to his face.   
Sherlock stood rooted to the spot.   
He thought of the millions of things that he could say, but settled on just saying “Yes.”   
The word hung in the air, neither men quite reacting to it.   
Finally John removed his hands from his face and asked “How long?”   
Sherlock shakily sighed. “Since the beginning I think.”   
“You think?” John asked.   
“When we first met I wasn’t such a great person. You know that. But as you taught me to be more and more human…I think that I really started to actually understand what I was feeling.”   
*****************  
John thought back to many years ago, when he had been discussing Sherlock’s emotions with Mycroft. They had been discussing the whole Irene Adler thing, and John had said “He’s acting heartbroken, but then again he’s always like that.”  
“Why didn’t you say something before?” John asked.   
“It was always either not the right time, not safe to with Moriarty around…or something else.” Sherlock said. He hadn’t made eye contact with John since he entered the room. Sherlock continued. “And you never seemed like you would have felt the same way. Anytime someone assumed we were together, you would deny it. And I would just sit there, not saying anything.”   
Sherlock waited for John to say something, to say anything.   
John couldn’t think of what to say now. He couldn’t believe that after all this time, all this time he had been going through his life, in love with a man he never thought he could have. All the time he had spent trying to feel the same way about someone else, someone who had hurt him in so many other ways. He couldn’t think of the words to use to explain this to Sherlock. To tell him that of course he loved him. That he wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. That every moment John had thought Sherlock had been dead, John had considered trying to join him, in some sort of perceived after-life. He thought all these things and many others, while Sherlock stood in front of him, eyes cast to the ground. John also knew that he needed to wait until he was complexly off pain killers, and standing on his own two feet to try to say any of this. He explained this last part to Sherlock.   
Sherlock nodded and left.  
************************  
About a week later John was allowed to return home. He hadn’t spoken to Sherlock since his first day of being conscious again.   
When he got to 221B Baker Street, his friends had thrown together a little party for him coming back home. There were a couple balloons, and a cake which Rosie had snuck much of the frosting off of.   
During this time Sherlock had avoided John. He had no idea what John would say to him, and thought that perhaps they would ignore it for today.   
Once Lestrade started telling a story however, John walked over to where Sherlock had been standing in a corner, using the crutches he had been given to get there.   
“Let’s talk.” John said, then he left the living room and made his way carefully down the stairs, Sherlock following.   
They were now by the door leading outside. Both didn’t say anything for a moment, instead thinking about the memoires that this dark hallway had. Of their first day together, after running down the cabbie, and leaning against the wall laughing. Of all the times Sherlock would put on the hat, and him and John would walk out the door to talk to the news reporters. Of the time they laid side by side on the stair case, for John’s stag night. And of this moment now.   
John started, looking past Sherlock’s shoulder. “I’ve thought about what I wanted to say.”   
Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, maybe to try to avoid the conversation, Sherlock himself wasn’t sure.   
“No.” John said. “Now I do the talking. I’ve thought about what I want to say. I’ve tried millions of speeches, trying to explain everything. But then I realized that not everything needs explaining. We’re a bit of a mess, you and I.” John said. He laughed a little, and now feeling more confident, made eye contact with Sherlock, who looked back at him. “There’s no way I can put into words what you’ve done for me. We have a bit of a complicated past. But it’s the past now. Right now is something new, and tomorrow will be new, and the day after that will be new. But I think that if we always do it together, we can deal with new.”   
John paused, trying to gauge Sherlock’s reaction to this.   
Sherlock, incredibly smart, but hopelessly stupid started saying “so…you..”  
John interrupted him. “I love you Sherlock. I always have, even if I didn’t always show it, or know it myself, and I always will.”   
With that John let the crutches he had under his arms fall away, because there was only one thing he needed to keep him up. He reached up his arms, and put one behind Sherlock’s neck, pulling him to him. Then they kissed. Soft and gentle, years in the making. When they broke away they looked at each other, heads close together, both their eyes shining.   
And finally, both of them felt complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it ends. Thank you to everyone who read, liked and commented on this story while I was updating. Thank you to anyone who might have read this after it's finished. Writing this over the past 2 months has really been incredible. Sometimes I would get stuck, and not know where to take the story. But I always knew how it would end. With Sherlock and John in Baker Street, together, where they belong.   
> If you liked this fanficiton please feel free to give it kudos, leave comments, and share it with others.   
> Thank you again.


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